Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Impossible
In various ways, lots of us, we're impossible humans: we're the main impediment in our lives.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Status Symbol +
Last month, Corey and I were at Highways Performance Space early in the morning, waiting for the tech/sound guy to get ready to help Corey rehearse for his show later that day. In the meanwhile, Corey and I took a brief walk through the small gallery there and saw the polaroids being featured there that month, THE FAIROAKS PROJECT: PHOTOS BY FRANK MELLENO. There were several photographs showing candid scenes at this bath house and aside from the obvious nudity and good heartedness of them, a few showed clear unprotected anal sex. Corey and I looked, he made a mention about how that culture was so integral to gay culture as a whole, but how it was how many men basically met their death that way, through unprotected sex which eventually lead to STDs including AIDS/HIV. Then, Corey and I briefly discussed whether or not the owners of such an establishment felt any sort of guilt for any of the deaths that came from that. We asked whether or not we should hold these business owners partly responsible for what happened to a lot of their patrons. Corey and I have talked about this a lot more since then. We talked about personal responsibility, and culpability, and our own experiences -- his in bath houses and mine in anonymous sex -- and how very much it seems that there will always be more of us getting infected with HIV or other STDs.
Over the years and my sketchy sexual past, I've had only one pregnancy scare, and I've had one HIV-positive blood test. Frankly, both coming rather late in my life (the former when I was 27, the latter three years ago), it could be argued I'm fortunate that way. Marginally. But until 2007, nearly all the sex I'd had since I was in my early twenties was without condoms and rather unsafe for me and whoever I was having sex with. There were several times when either men or women I slept with wanted to use condoms and I never reneged, I never argued. My own irresponsibility is that it wasn't ever me who made the choice to use condoms. I couldn't even tell you when it was that I used a condom last, how terrible is that? Probably back after that pregnancy scare, I think. This is all my own lack of personal responsibility: I'm very fortunate to have not developed something insidious through this part of my life and spread it about. And sometimes, since being aware of my own HIV infection, I wonder when I became infected for certain (I have a vague idea but only just a vague idea of it happening probably as early as late 2005/early 2006) and whether or not I had sex with anyone after that and unbeknownst to me, infecting someone else. What if I did? The possibility exists, but I don't know for sure. Anyway...
Earlier today I came across this article, discovering that a German singer had willfully engaged in unprotected sex with man several times, resulting in his own HIV infection, and was found guilty of a crime. In California (according to page thirteen of this PDF guide), it is a felony for an HIV-positive person to engage in unprotected sex with a HIV-negative person without disclosing the former's status.
All of this bringing me back to Corey's and my conversation about the owners of bath houses: do they share a certain amount of responsibility for a lot of us becoming infected, obviously gay men and men who have sex with men in particular? I don't think so. Corey and I agreed in that these people who run these places, they know what happens within the walls of their establishments, and sure, they can put out condoms for their customers, but they certainly aren't either required to enforce safe sex as a rule in their bath houses.
Personally, even though learning I was HIV-positive wasn't really an easy thing to move through, I don't believe I can blame anyone other than me. Really. I chose to have sex with lots of people without even asking about using a condom. Was it their fault? Not really. I mean, first time a man wanted to have sex bareback, I could've said no but didn't. I never made it a point to be protected because all I wanted was sex. It didn't matter. It didn't register. It was a non-issue. And to my recollection, it wasn't ever a debate. So, while not easy, my current status is pretty much my fault. Regardless of any of my sex partners's statuses, it was my choice not to engage in safe sex. Because, you see, I'm a relatively bright individual, I've always been informed, I know the whys and whats that comprise safe sex...and I still chose NOT to do it.
I've never been to a bath house, but, as I posited to Corey then, if I did, I don't believe I would believe that anyone who I fucked with there would really care about whether I was infecting them, or they me. I think it's as base as that. We simply do not care. And if the people who're engaging in the actual sex don't care, I'd imagine those taking our money to come in and use their building to fuck definitely don't care either. I can't fault them for it. I can only fault those who still do it, but even then, my own authority and responsibility stops at myself and, to a degree, my partner. I can't chastise anyone who still engages in bath house bareback sex sessions, I can offer my opinion in the discussion, but none of us can interfere in anyone else's life.
Wonder what it means when people of all ages, men and women both, continue to engage in unsafe promiscuous sex as a whole? Because, like me, we all know the risks associated with barebacking, so what does it mean that we will continue to spread diseases among ourselves so freely? I'm talking about us rational, seemingly normal, well educated, bright, informed adults, we're the ones I'm asking.
I know I'm HIV-positive, and everyone who knows me also knows. Now, what my personal responsibility is is letting those I will meet know. This HIV status is my ever-present pregnancy scare.
(most recent HIV statistics for California, Los Angeles County)
Over the years and my sketchy sexual past, I've had only one pregnancy scare, and I've had one HIV-positive blood test. Frankly, both coming rather late in my life (the former when I was 27, the latter three years ago), it could be argued I'm fortunate that way. Marginally. But until 2007, nearly all the sex I'd had since I was in my early twenties was without condoms and rather unsafe for me and whoever I was having sex with. There were several times when either men or women I slept with wanted to use condoms and I never reneged, I never argued. My own irresponsibility is that it wasn't ever me who made the choice to use condoms. I couldn't even tell you when it was that I used a condom last, how terrible is that? Probably back after that pregnancy scare, I think. This is all my own lack of personal responsibility: I'm very fortunate to have not developed something insidious through this part of my life and spread it about. And sometimes, since being aware of my own HIV infection, I wonder when I became infected for certain (I have a vague idea but only just a vague idea of it happening probably as early as late 2005/early 2006) and whether or not I had sex with anyone after that and unbeknownst to me, infecting someone else. What if I did? The possibility exists, but I don't know for sure. Anyway...
Earlier today I came across this article, discovering that a German singer had willfully engaged in unprotected sex with man several times, resulting in his own HIV infection, and was found guilty of a crime. In California (according to page thirteen of this PDF guide), it is a felony for an HIV-positive person to engage in unprotected sex with a HIV-negative person without disclosing the former's status.
All of this bringing me back to Corey's and my conversation about the owners of bath houses: do they share a certain amount of responsibility for a lot of us becoming infected, obviously gay men and men who have sex with men in particular? I don't think so. Corey and I agreed in that these people who run these places, they know what happens within the walls of their establishments, and sure, they can put out condoms for their customers, but they certainly aren't either required to enforce safe sex as a rule in their bath houses.
Personally, even though learning I was HIV-positive wasn't really an easy thing to move through, I don't believe I can blame anyone other than me. Really. I chose to have sex with lots of people without even asking about using a condom. Was it their fault? Not really. I mean, first time a man wanted to have sex bareback, I could've said no but didn't. I never made it a point to be protected because all I wanted was sex. It didn't matter. It didn't register. It was a non-issue. And to my recollection, it wasn't ever a debate. So, while not easy, my current status is pretty much my fault. Regardless of any of my sex partners's statuses, it was my choice not to engage in safe sex. Because, you see, I'm a relatively bright individual, I've always been informed, I know the whys and whats that comprise safe sex...and I still chose NOT to do it.
I've never been to a bath house, but, as I posited to Corey then, if I did, I don't believe I would believe that anyone who I fucked with there would really care about whether I was infecting them, or they me. I think it's as base as that. We simply do not care. And if the people who're engaging in the actual sex don't care, I'd imagine those taking our money to come in and use their building to fuck definitely don't care either. I can't fault them for it. I can only fault those who still do it, but even then, my own authority and responsibility stops at myself and, to a degree, my partner. I can't chastise anyone who still engages in bath house bareback sex sessions, I can offer my opinion in the discussion, but none of us can interfere in anyone else's life.
Wonder what it means when people of all ages, men and women both, continue to engage in unsafe promiscuous sex as a whole? Because, like me, we all know the risks associated with barebacking, so what does it mean that we will continue to spread diseases among ourselves so freely? I'm talking about us rational, seemingly normal, well educated, bright, informed adults, we're the ones I'm asking.
I know I'm HIV-positive, and everyone who knows me also knows. Now, what my personal responsibility is is letting those I will meet know. This HIV status is my ever-present pregnancy scare.
(most recent HIV statistics for California, Los Angeles County)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Alive
We were sitting at the Beverly Center, just outside the H & M store, having coffee and talking. And as we were talking about HIV and AIDS and the lack of impactful presence and communication in the gay community, we also came up with the same lack in the minority communities, especially 'straight' communities. So, we're talking. And we reach a point, again, when we're talking about when we're old, in our sixties, and honestly I'm not remembering the details of that, but we both made the observation that us making it to our sixties (and beyond) isn't out of the realm of possibility, the likelihood of it had grown a bit slimmer. I think it was me, pointing this out.
For a lot of the first year since I first discovered my own HIV infection, my greatest fear was that I would automatically become sick, you know? I would be that sick best friend in a sitcom, in a hospital room, hooked up to machines, looking sallow and my skin would be as thin as rice paper. I spent months crying and not sleeping well because it felt as if when I would wake up the next day I'd open my eyes and I'd have a tube up my nose. My doctor, then, said this is what would happen, and I didn't want to believe him despite his experience. And now, in retrospect, as I've said to Corey before, I can sort of chuckle about it because, well, my doctor was dead on, and I, of course, am not in some hospice somewhere, immobile and dying.
But that's just it, isn't it? Corey and I have gotten into a bit of a habit of making jokes about us "having AIDS" and us "dying" and us being sick. And we laugh. I've said to him how funny it sounds to me when I say something and his response is he's dying. Maybe you have to be there. Anyway, so why do we make the jokes? I mean, we're not with one foot in the grave as they say. That's what my doctor, then, would say to me. And it's the cliche we hear that once HIV infection appears, it's not a "death sentence" but Corey and I make jokes and comments to the contrary.
So, we're talking, drinking our coffee, laughing and all, and I point out we may not reach to live our sixties. I say how the odds are against us reaching that age. I'm not dismissing the possibility that we could. It's the likelihood that I latched on to. Corey details for me some more of what he saw and heard at and HIV training workshop last Sunday, and something reminds me of something I've come to realize about me over the last three years or so. After so much fright and so much worrying in that initial year, I said to Corey, I think there's going to come a time when my illness will more than show, whether it is through the damage it'll do to my body, or if I do indeed end up in a hospital bed until the end. I've come to accept the possibility of that. I don't think I've reached any grand zenith of self-realization, but I'm trying to keep a sort of realistic perspective on it.
Corey, since the very beginning, has been the person I can talk to about being HIV positive (the phrase 'living with HIV' is so much more passive and inert and ridiculous), but it was the first time I articulated to him this thought. Yes, we can joke around about telling some social services person we need help because we have AIDS, but I'd not brought up before the idea that, yes, we could be in fact dying of AIDS. But I'm not all gloom. I mean, what I think I have allowed into my life is that the possibility for the opposite of living is present, and not in a fatalistic nor negative way. I think the realization of that is something that we shy away from. Even from when I was a kid, through the sex education classes, through college, and through the real world, I never once heard that, hey, you know, being HIV/AIDS positive raises the incidence for premature death, so, keep that in mind. Why don't we tackle that, why don't we hear that?
Look, I'm not saying we should linger on the more sinister aspects of being HIV positive, that's just unhealthy and morbid and really rather strange. But I don't think we should discount what it probably means for a lot of us. I know I'm not the only one. I think it's okay to accept, or recognize the presence of one last final emergency in our lives (hell, we all say a lot of time that we could get hit by a bus tomorrow!). I'm going to take my last pill of the day, watch a few more episodes of the same tv show on dvd I watch, and get up and clean house, and talk to my boyfriend and kiss him.
I'm alive, after all.
For a lot of the first year since I first discovered my own HIV infection, my greatest fear was that I would automatically become sick, you know? I would be that sick best friend in a sitcom, in a hospital room, hooked up to machines, looking sallow and my skin would be as thin as rice paper. I spent months crying and not sleeping well because it felt as if when I would wake up the next day I'd open my eyes and I'd have a tube up my nose. My doctor, then, said this is what would happen, and I didn't want to believe him despite his experience. And now, in retrospect, as I've said to Corey before, I can sort of chuckle about it because, well, my doctor was dead on, and I, of course, am not in some hospice somewhere, immobile and dying.
But that's just it, isn't it? Corey and I have gotten into a bit of a habit of making jokes about us "having AIDS" and us "dying" and us being sick. And we laugh. I've said to him how funny it sounds to me when I say something and his response is he's dying. Maybe you have to be there. Anyway, so why do we make the jokes? I mean, we're not with one foot in the grave as they say. That's what my doctor, then, would say to me. And it's the cliche we hear that once HIV infection appears, it's not a "death sentence" but Corey and I make jokes and comments to the contrary.
So, we're talking, drinking our coffee, laughing and all, and I point out we may not reach to live our sixties. I say how the odds are against us reaching that age. I'm not dismissing the possibility that we could. It's the likelihood that I latched on to. Corey details for me some more of what he saw and heard at and HIV training workshop last Sunday, and something reminds me of something I've come to realize about me over the last three years or so. After so much fright and so much worrying in that initial year, I said to Corey, I think there's going to come a time when my illness will more than show, whether it is through the damage it'll do to my body, or if I do indeed end up in a hospital bed until the end. I've come to accept the possibility of that. I don't think I've reached any grand zenith of self-realization, but I'm trying to keep a sort of realistic perspective on it.
Corey, since the very beginning, has been the person I can talk to about being HIV positive (the phrase 'living with HIV' is so much more passive and inert and ridiculous), but it was the first time I articulated to him this thought. Yes, we can joke around about telling some social services person we need help because we have AIDS, but I'd not brought up before the idea that, yes, we could be in fact dying of AIDS. But I'm not all gloom. I mean, what I think I have allowed into my life is that the possibility for the opposite of living is present, and not in a fatalistic nor negative way. I think the realization of that is something that we shy away from. Even from when I was a kid, through the sex education classes, through college, and through the real world, I never once heard that, hey, you know, being HIV/AIDS positive raises the incidence for premature death, so, keep that in mind. Why don't we tackle that, why don't we hear that?
Look, I'm not saying we should linger on the more sinister aspects of being HIV positive, that's just unhealthy and morbid and really rather strange. But I don't think we should discount what it probably means for a lot of us. I know I'm not the only one. I think it's okay to accept, or recognize the presence of one last final emergency in our lives (hell, we all say a lot of time that we could get hit by a bus tomorrow!). I'm going to take my last pill of the day, watch a few more episodes of the same tv show on dvd I watch, and get up and clean house, and talk to my boyfriend and kiss him.
I'm alive, after all.
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